Shen Lang woke up at that moment.
She found herself squatting in an oddly angled corner. The moment she tried to move, a distinct pins-and-needles sensation prickled the soles of her feet, as if countless tiny needles were stabbing them—they had fallen asleep.
'...Fuck.'
She looked down to check and, confirming she wasn't squatting over a toilet, couldn't help but frown.
'Did I transmigrate as a spy or a paparazzo this time?'
'And not a very smart one, by the looks of it.'
"What's the plot?"
A moment later, the System replied: [The plot for this plane must be explored by the Host. The Host's identity on this plane is: A rookie director with no background whatsoever.]
Shen Lang raised an eyebrow slightly. "And the mission?"
[System: Because this plane is quite special and has no script limitations, the mission can only be completed by the Host herself—win the Oscar for Best Director within ten years.]
"...Ten years?"
